Dying and Crying
by comtria
Summary: Previously published under my other user name, this is a prequil to the series telling of the day Lindsay's life changed forever.


Freaks and Geeks

Dying and Crying

Chippewa, Michigan. July 1980.

Lindsay Weir pushed her brown hair behind her ear and smiled at her friend Millie Kentner. The two girls were both fifteen and had known each other since before they could remember. They had a lot in common, including their membership in the school's Mathlete team- in fact, Lindsay had recently secured the place of first block. But now it was summer and time to be enjoying the month and a half of freedom they had left.

"Do you remember when we were like six and we used to take our clothes off and swim in the inflatable swimming pool?" Lindsay asked, taking a sip out of her bottle of Coke. She and Millie sat cross-legged on Millie's bed.

"Oh, yeah." Millie gave an embarrassed smile. "My mom got pretty mad at us."

"Yeah," Lindsay agreed. She leafed through the page of a _Dynamite_ magazine. "I can't wait until we get out of this place. There's nothing to do here."

"Do you wanna try to give Goliath a bath?" Millie suggested, referring to her Great Dane. "He's getting pretty dirty, and yesterday my mom found a flea on his fur."

Lindsay crinkled her nose at the thought of washing the flea-infested dog. "Um, no thanks," she replied, finishing her Coke. "But maybe we can go outside or something. The weather's been really nice."

"Okay," Millie agreed, hopping off the bed. Lindsay followed suit. "My dad says he's gonna build a treehouse in our big tree outside."

"Really?" Lindsay asked. "Cool."

The girls crossed through the kitchen, where Millie's mother was just hanging up the phone from a conversation. She turned to Lindsay. "Lindsay, dear, that was your mother on the phone. She wants you to go home."

"Now?" Lindsay asked. "Can't she wait a few hours?"

Mrs. Kentner looked concerned. "No, she says to go home now. It's about your grandmother."

"Oh, no," Lindsay heard Millie say under her breath.

Lindsay's grandmother had been sick recently and was in the hospital.

"Is she going to be okay?" Lindsay asked, feeling a lump begin to form in her throat.

Mrs. Kentner shook her head. "Your mother wants you to go home, sweetie."

"Okay." Lindsay nodded and pushed open the kitchen door leading outside.

"I hope your grandmother gets better," Millie said sympathetically as Lindsay left.

Lindsay gave Millie a halfhearted smile and dashed across the street to her house, where she found her parents and her thirteen-year-old brother, Sam, in the living room.

"Come on, Lindsay, let's go," Jean Weir said as soon as Lindsay had found her family.

"Mom? Is Grandma okay?" Lindsay asked.

"I don't know," Jean replied.

"Come on, let's go," Harold Weir repeated, lightly pushing Lindsay toward the front door. "Sam? You ready?"

"Wait, Dad, can I get something first?" Lindsay asked. "I'll be right there, okay? You can wait in the car."

"All right," Harold agreed, "but you better be out in five minutes." Jean and Sam went to wait in the car, and Harold turned back to Lindsay. "Lindsay, your mom's really worried, so try not to give her a hard time."

Lindsay nodded and hurried to her room. She quickly opened her desk drawer and sifted through a few papers until she found what she was looking for. It was a picture of her grandmother holding her as a baby. It was Lindsay's favorite and one of the only pictures she had of her grandmother. She tucked it into her jeans pocket and rushed outside to join the rest of her family in the station wagon.

"Mom, is Grandma going to die?" Sam asked from the back seat of the car on the way to the hospital.

"Oh, Sam, we can just hope not," Jean said. "Let's all say a little prayer before we get there."

Lindsay silently wished for the wellness of her grandmother. She turned to Sam to see that his head was bowed and his eyes were closed, thinking intently.

Harold pulled the station wagon into the hospital parking lot and the Weir family went into the waiting room. 

"I'm sorry, but you can't go up to the room," one of the nurses told Sam.

"But- she's my grandmother," Sam protested. "Come on, I'm old enough."

"How old are you?" the nurse asked.

"I'll be fourteen. Soon," Sam replied defiantly.

"Look, it's his grandmother," Jean tried to reason. "Please let him visit her."

"I'm sorry, but you'll have to stay in the waiting room," the nurse said.

Defeated, Sam slouched into one of the waiting room seats.

"Lindsay, will you stay with him?" Jean asked Lindsay.

"No!" said Lindsay. "I want to visit Grandma."

"All right," Jean agreed. She turned to Sam and kissed his forehead. "We'll be back soon, sweetie."

Sam nodded and shot an envious look toward Lindsay. Lindsay wasn't in the mood to fight back.

"Here's three dollars. Go buy yourself a snack in the cafeteria," Harold told Sam, giving him some money.

"Thanks, Dad." Sam accepted the money and turned toward the waiting room TV.

On the elevator ride up to her grandmother's room, Lindsay stuck her hand in her pocket and felt her grandmother's picture. The elevator ride was utterly silent and depressing, as was the walk down the hallway.

Finally, Harold, Jean, and Lindsay entered Grandma's room.

"Oh, God," Lindsay muttered upon seeing her grandmother hooked up to several mechanisms. "Hi, Grandma," she said quietly.

"Hello. Is that my Lindsay?" Grandma wanted to know.

Harold pushed Lindsay toward Grandma's bed. Lindsay stumbled forward and held one of her grandmother's wrinkled hands. "How do you feel?" she asked.

"Oh, I'm fine," Grandma assured her, "it's just my heart."

Lindsay leaned over the high hospital bed and kissed her grandmother's forehead. "I love you."

"I'm so glad you could come," Grandma told her delightedly. "It means a lot to me."

Lindsay took a deep breath and told herself not to cry.

The next few hours crept by slowly. Jean and Harold sat silently in chairs behind Lindsay, while Lindsay sat right next to her grandmother's hospital bed. Her parents knew that she, of all the Weirs, had the closest relationship to her grandmother.

Lindsay hated the silence. She knew her grandmother didn't like people feeling sorry for her, and she tried to say anything to break the tension. "So, do you get to watch TV here?" she asked weakly.

Grandma chuckled. "Sometimes, Lindsay. So, how are you doing in school? Are you still in the Mathletes?"

"Yep. First block," Lindsay smiled.

"That's my Lindsay," Grandma boasted proudly.

"Lindsay, your father and I are going to check on Sam and get something to eat," said Jean, rising from her chair. "Is that okay with you?"

"Oh, yeah, sure, Mom," Lindsay said, hating the fact that her mother didn't even acknowledge her grandmother's presence in the room.

"Do you want us to bring you anything?" Harold asked.

Lindsay shook her head. "I'm okay."

As soon as Lindsay's parents had left the room she turned back to her grandmother and pulled the sacred picture from her pocket. "Look what I found, Grandma."

"Oh, look at you," Grandma said. "You were such a little dear."

"Grandma, I can tell you anything," Lindsay said, almost to herself. "I usually tell you stuff even before I tell my parents. Remember when I found out that I was going to State in Mathletes and I called you from school to tell you before I even told my parents?"

"I remember," Grandma said.

"And whenever I was afraid to tell my parents anything I always told you." Lindsay's throat was beginning to hurt from suppressed tears. "I can always count on you."

"Oh, Lindsay." Grandma sighed. "You know I'm not going to be around forever."

"I just…I hate seeing you like this." Lindsay folded her hands in her lap and sighed.

Suddenly Grandma's breath caught in her throat, and Lindsay's senses perked up. "Grandma?"

She felt the ice-cold grip of her grandmother's hand on her arm and turned to see her horror-stricken face.

"I don't want to go," Grandma uttered.

"What?" Lindsay's eyes went wide. She didn't know what to do. All she knew was that her grandmother was about to die, and her chest began to hurt, her heart thumping hard.

"I love you," Grandma choked out.

Lindsay tried to collect herself and stood up, gazing into her grandmother's fading eyes. "Grandma, do you…do you see God, or…heaven, or a light…or anything?" she asked.

Grandma's eyes closed in pain. "No. There's nothing. It's just black."

"Then maybe it's not-" Lindsay began, but she knew her grandmother had just died. Dropping her lifeless hand, Lindsay shrieked, suddenly not knowing what to do. "Oh, God, someone help." She buried her head in her hands, berating herself for not trying to get help for her grandmother. Huge sobs rose in her throat, and tears streamed down her face.

A nurse came into the room and glanced at Lindsay. "Sweetie? Are you all right?"

Lindsay looked up, her eyes red and glazed over. And the nurse knew what she was trying to say.

The nurse rushed over to her grandmother's bed and checked her pulse, obviously hearing nothing. Lindsay couldn't bear to watch.

The nurse left the room, calling for help, and suddenly a whole rush of doctors was swarming into the hospital room.

Jean and Harold came back into the room and saw the commotion. Jean immediately found Lindsay and embraced her. Lindsay cried on her mother's shoulder.

The next five minutes seemed surreal, as if they were in slow motion. The next thing Lindsay remembered was Sam being escorted into the room by a nurse, and finding herself in the center of all three members of her family, all trying to comfort her.

Grandma was gone. Lindsay never saw her again.

"Lindsay?" Millie tapped on Lindsay's bedroom door.

Lindsay slowly sat up in her bed and dried her eyes. "Millie, I really don't want to talk right now," she said hoarsely.

Millie hovered in the doorway of Lindsay's room. "Lindsay, I'm sorry," she said softly. "I remember your grandmother. She was a really good person."

"I know," said Lindsay. "She didn't deserve what she got in the end."

And then Millie was beside her, hugging her. Lindsay didn't know how many times she had been hugged in the past twenty-four hours, but it was more times than she could count. 

"I just want to let you know that I'm here," Millie said. "I guess you want to be alone now."

Lindsay sniffled and nodded. Millie left the room.

"We'd really like you to have dinner with us tonight, Lindsay," Jean said, "but you don't have to if you don't want to."

Lindsay looked up from her bed. Had she fallen asleep or just fallen into her own thoughts? She didn't remember her mother coming into her room.

"Mom, I'm not hungry," she replied.

"Okay," said Jean, and left.

Then Sam was there. "Lindsay…" He ventured into her room, and when she didn't protest he sat by the side of her bed. "I'm really sad about Grandma too. But…I didn't even get to say good-bye."

Lindsay rocked back and forth on her bed. "I know, Sam."

"At least you did," Sam added. "But it's still really sad."

"Yeah." Lindsay nodded. "Sam, I'm really tired, so could you please leave?"

"Okay," Sam agreed. "I hope you feel better soon." He quietly stepped out of her room.

It wasn't until two days later that Lindsay got dressed. She was tired of lying in bed with the warm sun streaming through her window. It made her depressed and immobile. Her grandmother didn't want her to live this way, she was sure of it.

"Lindsay, do you want to go shopping?" Jean asked enthusiastically at breakfast, noticing that Lindsay had gotten dressed.

"No, Mom, it's okay," said Lindsay, taking a sip of orange juice.

"You really need to take a shower," Sam tried to joke.

Lindsay shot him a look of warning.

"You can have the prize in the cereal box," Sam offered.

Harold entered the kitchen and sat next to Lindsay. "Hey, Lindsay!" he greeted his daughter. "I'm glad to see that you're…well, you…you are."

"Uh, yeah, Dad," said Lindsay, looking at her father strangely.

She noticed the newspaper sitting next to her father's placemat and stroked it with her thumb. "Is Grandma's obituary in here?"

"It was yesterday," said Jean.

"Oh." Lindsay looked down at her cereal bowl. "I kind of wanted to keep it."

"I'm sorry, sweetie," Jean apologized.

"The funeral's tomorrow, right?" Lindsay asked. "We're going, aren't we?"

"Of course we are," said Harold.

"I can say good-bye," Sam added.

The funeral was the most depressing thing that Lindsay had ever experienced. Everyone was dressed in black and looking somber. It was almost more than she could stand. 

That night Lindsay sat in her room, cradling the picture of her grandmother in her hands. She wished she had a more recent picture of the two of them together. And she didn't feel like doing anything anymore, especially related to school or outside activities. She just wanted to sit in her room and grieve.

Two weeks passed, and Lindsay barely spoke to Millie. Sam was okay and hanging out with his friends again, and her parents seemed almost untouched by her grandmother's death. They kept trying to encourage her to get up and do something, but she didn't have the strength. 

Then one morning she woke up and decided that she was going to change her life. She had no idea why, but she was tired of being the shy, quiet, smart little girl that she had always been. Digging through a trunk in her parents' bedroom she found the old Army jacket that her father had worn, and putting it over her shoulders was like putting on a costume. A costume that would shape the person she now was.

"Where did you find that coat?" Harold asked Lindsay at breakfast.

Lindsay shrugged. "Oh, it was in your room. Is it okay if I have it?"

"I guess so." Harold gave her a weird look and took a bite of her breakfast.

"Oh, Lindsay, you're not going to go out in that, are you?" Jean asked her.

"Yeah. Why not?" Lindsay asked.

"Jean, let her wear it. She's expressing her individuality," Harold shrugged.

"It does kind of look cool on you," Sam said.

Lindsay smiled. "Thanks, Sam."

She got up from the table and walked outside, where she strode down the sidewalk down the 7-Eleven. It was a popular hangout for the "freaks" at school, whom Lindsay had never cared to hang out with. But maybe now was the time to find out what they were really all about.

As Lindsay walked into the convenience store parking lot, she spotted Daniel Desario. Daniel had always scared her. He was seventeen and was going to be entering his junior year at McKinley. Everyone knew that he was a burnout and he had probably flunked some grade in school. As Lindsay neared him she saw that he was smoking a cigarette.

Daniel glanced at her as she approached him. "Hey, you're not gonna tell on me, are you, Miss Perfect?" he asked bitterly.

Lindsay ignored him and bit her lip, looking at his cigarette. She had never smoked before. It was so low-class to smoke. But…she was just feeling daring today.

She gestured to the cigarette. "Could I have a smoke?"

"Could you _have_ a _smoke_?" Daniel repeated. "You serious?"

Lindsay shrugged and half-smiled. "Yeah."

"Well…okay," Daniel agreed, and handed the cigarette to her. "Just be careful not to inhale yet or anything."

Lindsay held the cigarette awkwardly in her hand and she could smell the tobacco as the smoke tendrils wafted toward her.

"Look, are you gonna take a drag or not?" Daniel asked. "You're wasting my cigarette."

Lindsay took a deep breath and took a puff of the cigarette. She released her breath and the smoke filled her nose and mouth. She handed the cigarette back to Daniel, trying to look as if she handled it well, but she began to cough violently.

"See, now, you shouldn't have done that," Daniel told her.

Lindsay stopped coughing and turned back to him. "No, it's okay. I'm all right," she assured him, wishing she could have a drink of water.

"Really?" Daniel sized her up. "You want another one?"

"Um, no." Lindsay refused the offer.

"Cool jacket," Daniel commented.

"Really?" Lindsay asked, looking down at the green Army jacket. "I just…it's my dad's. I'm just wearing it for fun."

"Well it's pretty cool," Daniel repeated. "Makes a fashion statement." He looked around as if trying to make sure no one else of his "kind" was around. "Hey, shouldn't you be playing with your friends or something? Aren't you in that math club at school?"

"Oh, the Mathletes." Lindsay shrugged. "I don't think I want to do that anymore. It's just not right, you know."

"What's your name, anyway?" Daniel asked her.

"It's Lindsay. Lindsay Weir," she told him.

"Lindsay," Daniel repeated. "Okay. I'm Daniel Desario." He brushed his hair back with his fingers, holding the cigarette in his mouth.

"I know," Lindsay said.

"Yeah, I guess pretty much everyone at school's heard of me." Daniel laughed.

Lindsay shrugged. "I don't know."

"So, school's starting soon," Daniel said, throwing the cigarette onto the ground and smashing it with his foot.

"Yeah. It sucks," Lindsay said.

"Yeah, but you probably get really good grades," Daniel told her. "I can barely even get one good grade."

"It's really not that bad," Lindsay replied.

"So maybe I'll see you at school," Daniel said. "Look, Lindsay, I gotta go. You should really wear that jacket more."

Lindsay smiled. "Yeah. Maybe I should."

Daniel walked off toward his car, and Lindsay stared at him. He wasn't as bad as she thought he was, and at least he seemed to have his life figured out.

Pulling the picture of her grandma out of her pocket, Lindsay stared at it long and hard, and then she kissed her grandmother's face and tucked it back into the pocket of her new jacket. Her new uniform. Her new self.

That was the moment that she decided her life was going to change, somehow. Maybe it would be good, and maybe it would be bad- but she had to find out.


End file.
